Harry Potter and the Unfortunate Lack of Plotholes
by Kuro Guardian
Summary: After time and rather too much thought I have decided to try re-writing the series without the plotholes of the original version. Of course, being me it became a bit sardonic and so it is as much a parody as anything else. Expect humor, violence, and the logical consequences of one's actions. Take notice that I am working from the books and not the movies or common fanon ideas.


Harry Potter and the Really Rather Unfortunate Lack of Plotholes.

General/Parody

Chapter One

The Boy Who Lived

It's a bright, sunny November morning the streets cluttered with Halloween's leavings and near every neighborhood full of people surveying the damage done to their lawns and garages. For those living on Privet Drive the worse of the  
damage has been left off - understandable considering how few children actually live on the cul-de-sac. Not that a great many would as the area is a more recent one done in the cookie-cutter design so popular these days. Each house could be the twin of the others with all of them done in blue and white and gray. Even the cars are mostly the same - second tier luxury on lease with not much more than 25,000 miles on them from a previous owner. And exiting the fourth house on the right is a prime example of the sort who live here.

Vernon Dursley is a large man of the type known to have played the rougher sorts of Rugby before eventually mellowing out into a core of muscle coated in flab. By mellow of course I mean he's fairly judgmental, stubborn as heck, straight-laced pillock as evidenced by his push broom moustache and lack of neck. All said he's not a bad sort, just not somebody you immediately invite 'round to tea. Dressed in a suit of blue with a matching tie of copper and green he waves good-bye to his wife Petunia, a woman built like a reed: long and deceptively fragile with a rather dour face. Smiling brightly she is very nearly pretty, but luckily comes across instead as interesting. Waving their chubby little boy's hand for him she goes back inside to feed Dudley and look over her latest manuscript - _Starlight: Ellipse_. Who says a housewife can't be an author? He in turn gets in the gently used Beemer Marge gifted them some months ago.

As these ordinary people embark on their day a rather different sort are cheerfully getting themselves arrested and beat about the head - not necessarily in that order. Yes, old and young , male and female a great many…well at least some forty individuals are dancing about and shooting off fireworks and generally disturbing the peace. Luckily for the bobbies each and every one of the Anarchists is dressed in some sort of costume made of Justice robes and Keebler elf hats. "Get off! Don't you muggle dolts realize You-Know-Who has been vanquished?! Celebrate!" In reply constable Martins introduces the obvious lunatic to his equally obvious truncheon. "What nuthouse let you lot about?"

Shaking his head at the display Vernon just barely manages to stop before he runs over an old man in a bathing suit wearing a vintage soldier's helmet and a pair of Doc Martins. Pulling out his wand the old geezer is rather surprised to be tackled by a pair of strapping lads in red robes. Smiling apologetically the older of the two gives an awkward sort of wave as they proceed to frog march the gent away. "Sorry about that!" And in the car is another chap in red pointing a wand at a frightened Vernon. "Ob-oh. You've got the mark", he says pointing to the odd bit of scar at the corner of Vernon's jaw. "Wife a witch, huh? Good bit of luck on Potter's lad doing in that old bugger Vol-er You-Know-Who for you then. Ta!"

And like that the rather enthusiastic Paki fellow is gone leaving Vernon alone and shaking. The only Potter he knows is that arrogant, bullying twit James that his sister-in-law married. They had a child didn't they? A few months shy of Dudley's age… But what could a baby do possibly do against a monster like the Dark Lord? And besides they hadn't seen hide nor hair of them since late last year. Surely? For a moment the shaken man is strongly of mind to turn about and head home. After all what if news of Lily reaches Petunia and it isn't well? Sure, they don't have nearly the close relationship he and Marge do, but Petunia still holds close to her troublesome sister. More so now after that freak accident had cost Dudley his maternal grandparents. Ah, but the mortgage needs seeing to and the joint funeral hadn't been cheap especially as the Potters couldn't be bothered to attend much less help out with the cost. Nodding weakly he continues on to work.

Feet upon the ottoman Petunia absently spins a pencil about as she revises her maths. In her opinion it is simply lazy not to double-check; after all if people are paying good money for her work she owed them nothing less than something worth buying. Also she hated to think of some group of people or other sitting around mocking her stupidity while yet others mocked them. Mildred Noddins would never let her live it down for sure! Her mind thus occupied she pays no mind to the rather odd cat perched outside the lounge window staring rather too intently at everything. Really it is an odd sort of cat with markings about the eyes that look rather too similar to a pair of spectacles - the old fashion kind only spinsters wear.

Dudley meanwhile has pulled himself to his feet by sheer bloody-mindedness. Really it's a wonder he is able to stand butterball that he is, though if his parents ever stopped over-protecting him he'd be further along by now. Ah well, laughing at his own brilliance he just happens to spot the really rather funny cat. "Kant!" , the little thing squeals, because that is the word Mrs. Figg uses when she stops by to gossip with his mummy. "Kant!" And then he is flying up into the air as mummy whoops with delight. Yes, he is rather delighted himself after all he most assuredly knows what that thing by the window is and now so does mummy. "Oh, Dudley what a clever boy you are! You've just said "shan't". Blinking a bit for a moment the child wishes he had the vocabulary to insist he hadn't actually said that, but it's just as well; mummy can't stand cats anyway. She says they're filthy.

It's rather dark by the time the Dursleys finally settle down. With a growl that same stupid cat licks its - maybe her paws grimacing at the taste of antifreeze on them. Damn muggles with their chemicals and 'here kitty kitty' nonsense. Before the rather annoyed cat can work up a proper froth there is a crack before a strange old bender of a gent stalks up in crushed, purple velvet wearing vintage conquistador boots with a singularly uh…unnerving twinkle in his eye. Reaching into his pocket he pauses as several curtains are hurriedly twitched back into place. Smirking he pulls out not a weapon but what looks like a lighter. However, with each click of it a streetlight goes out until the neighborhood is cloaked in darkness.

Up toward the end a door is thrown open by a skinny man in striped boxers with his robe barely thrown on - "What the hell is all this then?! Whose having it on?! I'll have no hooligans -mph mmm!" One hand firmly over her husband's big mouth Moira Willows drags him back in the house – "Never mind him! Bless. His. Sou - ENOUGH HAROLD THIS ISN'T URIE!" The front door slams doing little if anything to keep the shouts under cover. "OH WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO DO THEN?! PISS ON 'EM?!" "YOU JUST LOOK RIGHT HERE WOMAN I'M NOT YOUR EMASCULATED DA! I'LL LAY A BITCH OUT! THAT INCLUDES YOU!" A few curtains cautiously twitch aside as the ruckus grows louder.

Meanwhile the unfortunately dressed man smiles sheepishly at the now hissing cat. The hissing cat which springs upwards into a tall and handsome, if older, female with thick black hair. "Oh, you blessed idiot! What are you on about? Bad enough every lunatic in a robe is filling the skies with owls and fireworks whilst they dance in the streets, but you've got to the cut the bleeding lights off in a muggle neighborhood!" To which the blessed idiot replies, "Lemon Sherbet?" Clutching her emerald green cloak about herself in agitation the woman spits at the man's feet. "Damn you Dumbledore! This isn't the time for your particular brand of idiocy! Lily and James are dead and you want to leave their only child with these narrow-minded muggles. On top of which both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are on the loose causing who knows what mayhem."

Pausing a beat she shudders as the brisk November breeze strokes across her narrow shoulders. Walking toward Dumbledore she frowns hazel eyes bright with tears. "Tell me the truth. Was it worth it? Whatever game you're playing with the ghosts of your past is it worth the pain? The lives lost and the children abandoned." Turning to a suspiciously quiet privet number 4 she stamps in frustration as she points to the house. "They don't have room for him. The money is just barely there and they've a child of their own. Petunia has so many issues with Lily and the troubles she brought on the family - do you honestly know what you're doing?"

With a face like stone Dumbledore turns away toward the south. "Minerva how can you ask me such questions? After all weren't you there through it all? Didn't you convince them that not all our eggs should be in one basket? 'You're too obvious a choice Albus. We must be more careful.' Ah, but care was never a concern of your house my dear. And those boys were always reckless." The conversation is cut close as the relative peace is rent by the arrival of a giant flying motorcycle. "Oh HELL –" "Damn you Harold! GET. IN. THE. HOUSE!"The robin egg blue door is slammed shut again. Face in her hands Minerva McGonagall wonders for the umpteenth time why she hasn't yet run off with Pomona and Snape.

Ignoring her Dumbledore greets the rather hideous man stepping off the strangely quivering cycle. "Here he is sir. Safe as Churches!" Paying a few token comments to the large, childish half-breed the white-haired wizard looks over the infant he's been handed. Tiny for his age the child is unnaturally still the mark on his forehead still a swollen, painful looking red. The boy doesn't even shiver despite the season and his lack of proper dress. Too bad for him that he'll simply have to be alright - there isn't any other choice. None at least with so great a chance as this one for success.

Wrapping the baby's blanket a little tighter around him he moves past his deputy who is distracted by a bewildered Hagrid ("Did I give it away then?") to lay the child on the front porch the bearded man now sobbing behind him. "Do be quiet my dear boy least you wake up the neighborhood." Placing the child on the front porch he removes a letter from his breast pocket and lays it beside dear little Harry's head. "Good luck my dear. Until next we meet." Moving to leave he is blindsided by a rather magnificent right hook courtesy of Ms. McGonagall. "Wha' da hells es thee 'atter wit oo?! 'T's fuckin' no'emburr 'ent oo leavin' da bairn on a step wit' ou even en warmin' charm! An' a note?! Nice 'ay at' 'ell a bodee famlee' s dead an' gon! Does hees git at 'ee da boddee or 'ay gooud aye?! 'Ave oo no 'omnon decnyce?!"

For those of who don't speak, read, or write angrish particularly the UK brand what the thoroughly pissed-off McGonagall said could be translated as: You really are senile aren't you? It's entirely too cold to leave a small child in house clothes with nothing but a blanket for warmth outside on a porch like a parcel. Also a note? When presenting a child to its relatives or anyone you're trying to get to foster the child you sit down like a civilized human being to discuss the situation. You do not leave a note like a person telling the milkman not to stop by for a week. That is especially true if the reason for the fostering is that the child's parents have died with unfinished business with the foster parent and/or parents. I really had thought better of you - you ignorant ass. Sit upon a power drill and massage your prostate with that you useless, inbred, syphilitic, herpes-ridden, [censored-], sad old farce of a queen. Or something approximately like that…yes.

At this point it should be noted that a nicely sized caravan of police cruisers are merrily on their way to arrest as quoted: "one of those funny sort of permanent bachelors, someone in a dress and green cloak, as well as a truly hideous man twice as tall as a man and five times as wide with hands the size of dustbin lids and feet like baby dolphins". Rather interesting how every one of the calls in had been very specific on the looks of that last one. Which is silly as it couldn't be true, but each and every one of the investigating officers is carrying a loaded shotgun and side arm set with them just in case. "All cars be aware that the funny looking big fellow apparently has a motorcycle. This might well be our terrorist from Godric's, so be careful as he still might have the kid. Here's hoping the kid is safe and sound."

Cpt. Morris grins savagely at the thought of plugging a few holes in the unnatural bastard. Children stealing pedophiles deserve every shot they get - each and every one, particularly as universal health care means they generally live long for another round of violence before sentencing and jailhouse initiation. With that cheerful thought at the front of his mind the young officer makes the turn onto Privet Drive South. Deciding not to give the wankers a chance to scurry off through the hedges he forgoes his own siren and calls back to the other cars to leave off theirs. Going a step further he then has everyone turn off their headlights, so that several minutes later Dumbledore's plan ends in an utter clusterfuck.

Head still ringing from the remarkable clip to the chin he's just received the old man can only gape as all a sudden everything is bright blue lights and howling sirens. Worse with several sets of headlights blinding him thoughts of going for his wand don't even enter his head. Luckily Minerva was quicker on the uptake and is currently streaking for the hedges in cat form. Hagrid in opposite is seemly determined to get himself gunned down as with a roar he begins stomping toward the cruisers ignoring the shouted warnings. The first shot blows out his kneecap and succeeds in startling Harry into releasing a thin frightened wailing.

Quick as a wink the door of Privet 4 is opened and the child snatched into the darkness where another child is already screaming in distress. The door slams shut as Harold dashes outside now with a shotgun he points directly at the giant's head, "Didn' a tell ya to git?!" That's when the aurors arrive and one of them immediately goes down missing the greater portion of his skull. Two more fall when the startled officers reflexively squeeze their triggers. "Rogers go for backup and Oblivitors!"

Nodding the slender Eurasian female moves into a twirl taking a cap to the spine and collapsing with a scream. Her panicked sobbing over the loss of her legs penetrates the madness in a way the calls of "Situation Alpha" from the auror squad leaders hadn't. "Wait! Wait! Leave off boys we're not in Kansas anymore!" Slowly all guns are lowered with the exception of Harold's shotgun. One of the bobbies runs over to lead him off with an admonishment over owning a firearm for one thing and actually using it for another. "At least a score and twenty - IF - IF the judge is having a good day!"

Blinking rapidly Dumbledore finally lowers his hands trying to gather his wits together, but knowing the situation has quite frankly escaped him. Cpt. Morris holsters his clip with a snort of disgust. "You re wizards then? 'Course you are – we've been dragging you sorry lot into the stations all day. About ran through our riot supplies of temporary cuffs by lunch time before Samuel remembered to check for extra wands on the quieter ones. So why are ya here?""Hell if I know, but rest assured I'll have the short of it before long."

So saying Amelia Bones stomps forward from the shadows McGonagall trotting along behind her. Long legs eating up the ground Amelia is barely more it seems then skin, will, and as of now rage. Yet magic literally crackles about her as she steps over a mess of blood and brains from the unfortunate Cadet Nolin's noggin. As she steps into Dumbledore's personal space the blood splattered door of Privet 4 opens and a white face peers out lines of stress digging into it. "Hurry up and get in every last one of you!", Petunia hisses jiggling a baby in each arm. Nonplused the non-auror wizards move toward the door while the police and aurors continue to discuss clean-up. Turning things over to Lt. Roland the captain enters as well mindful of the carpet.

Making certain the curtains are closed Vernon mentally curses a blue-streak. What would the neighbors think? What had happened to the Potters and why was their child here now? Where was James' family? Turning on the lights Petunia settles into the squishy blue chair she calls her Dreaming Seat the boys just a little more quiet. Her face has assumed the mask like quality he has come to associate with dire events. When they lost the first baby she had worn it and when her parents were found crushed dead in their bed. When he lost his first job and couldn't find another and the rent, the utilities had been due… After the second dozen rejections on her first book, and the poor results of her second. The first time she met James Potter and the last time she saw Lily. "Dammit!"

"Language Vernon." Knowing that the look on her face is distressing her husband she nonetheless has to ignore his feelings right now to deal with the mess dumped on her plate in the form of these people - these freaks. "Lily use to send home pictures to us the first year or so. Yes, in fact she made a point of sending home her yearbooks except that last one - the one with the engagement notice." She can feel a truly ugly smile tugging at her lips, "That one was sent to us via James Potter's owl. Not even a note or an invitation from Lily. Mother was crushed." The small boy with the scar on his brow whimpers as he tries to suck his fingers for comfort. She cuddles him closer and pats Dudley on the top of his little blond head.

Searching the faces staring down at her she settles on the conflicted woman in the pretty green cloak. "Are you a Slytherin like that Spinner's boy? The Snape brat?" The woman jerks as though slapped colour raising to her cheeks as the old bastard chuckles. "No? You must be Gryffindor then to have such a reaction, yes McGonagall? Don't look so surprise your kind doesn't age the way someone like me does." Turning to look at the man with the impossible beard and twinkling eyes she snarls causing him to step back. "You're Dumbledore - the man who sunt me a letter when I was fourteen. Lily and the Snape boy read it when I left it out. I don't know the rest of you though I wonder where the Marauders' are. Have they all died?"

The is a moment of intense discomfort as the wizards process this and Cpt. Morris attempts to manfully choke back a wave of profanity. Clearing his throat he steps forward. "Begging your pardon ma'am, but what the hell is all this then? I mean I've got a bunch of rookies who'll need the ceremony now to keep your Obliviators off them and a unit of Shrinks coming in to keep those same Obliviators from screwing up the minds in this neighborhood. Also the big ugly sonuvagun with the capped knee and belly wound is wanted for kidnapping by the Godric folks… I mean it's more than a bit of a mess I've got in my lap."

Standing beside him Director Bones nods in agreement. "At least four casualties maybe five if the half-breed is allergic to the materials in these bullets or the composition of the gunpowder. A paralyzed Senior auror whose father is one of the premier ambassadors of the Central Asian Alliance. Three teams of Obliviators needed when most of them are already dealing with the fallout from earlier today. Never mind the issues with Black who seems to have murdered Pettigrew and a street full of muggles, or Lupin whose been having unprotected sex with muggles despite his disease, and the certain illegal snatching of a minor along with his vault key."

Here the middle-aged officer turns to a visibly discomforted Albus. Running his fingers through his beard he studies his shoes. Bouncing once on the balls of his feet the old gent comes to the decision to just tell the truth - not the whole thing of course, but enough for his purposes. "Harry has defeated the Dark Lord thanks to the sacrifice of his mother. He has many enemies remaining however and so requires the protection only his mother's blood can give him. As Ms. Evans and her son are his only living maternal relatives he must stay here for his and their protection." With a gentle smile he looks about himself only to be met with decidedly blank stares.

"I have a cousin in Honolulu who adores children because she can never have any herself." Stiffing with something more than irritation but less then rage the Headmaster of Hogwarts has to honestly bite his lips and remove his hands from his pockets. Luckily Minerva is talking with Bones so only the muggles are really paying any attention to his silent exchange with the Evans cunt. Trying a different tack he begins, "Surely – " "Where is my sister's body? What has become of her possessions? Has she left a will? When will her funeral be? Where will it be? Who is planning it, besides myself and whatever family of James exist? Where is Harry's godfather and why is the baby so unresponsive right now? What the hell happened in Godric and what are you playing at?"

Rapid fire the whippet thin twenty-something continues to grill the man she has hated for taking her sister away since she was twelve her birthday ruined by that stupid owl for Snape. The same man who laughed when unannounced she'd arrived at the reception hand clenched tight around the portkey Potter had sent to Snape and the Marauders had marked her as their target of fun. The same man who wrote to tell her Lily would not be in contact so if she could stop writing that'd be nice, thank you. This damnable bastard who had the audacity to come to her house and leave an infant on her porch without even a by-your-leave.

Several hours later Dudley is down for the night hopefully 'til his normal time of six. Harry meanwhile clutches her terry-towel robe like it's the last shield between him and the fires of hell. Considering the circumstances she won't begrudge him tonight, but she refuses to go through the hassle she had with Dudley who had been a colicky baby until only a few months ago. She'd nearly suffered a breakdown from months of sleepless nights and Dudley had been failing to thrive besides. No. No, not again this boy would sleep or else he could cry himself to sleep in the cupboard like Dudley had done a few times.

Rocking the little boy gently she wonders if he'll open his eyes again. His eyes are so much like Lily's. A little brighter like a sour apple instead of Lily's emerald and the corners don't turn up at the corners with that elfin quality she use to mock her sister for. _'Changeling baby. No wonder your hair's_ _red.'_ Only Lily had been gifted with red hair as mama had been a brunette and da a dirty blond. Mee-ma had been blond as a girl through it had grown out to be a dark brown. Grandad had hair so black it had been purple in the right light. 'Goodness I'm tired, thinking of hair colors at a time like this.' Planting a kiss on Dudley's head she heads to the guest room to sleep with Harry tonight.

A light already slips out Vernon sitting up against the headboard a magazine in his hands and reading glasses perched on his nose. "I won't have him in my marriage bed anymore then I'll have Dudders, but tonight isn't the time to leave you alone. Now come here dear I've got to be up tomorrow for Mitchell's meeting." Smiling despite discovering herself the last of her immediate family Petunia climbs in beside her knight in stainless steel armor. "You know I love you don't you Vern?" Grumbling he plants a kiss on her forehead and then after a brief hesitation one on his nephew's. "Like that was ever in question." As the bedside lamp is turned off and the vault key around Petunia neck placed beside it little Harry settles down to dreams of green light and failed safeguards.


End file.
